eyes dilated, fearful of real bloodshed in the furious
scene raging in the avenue before her.

A little shrimp of a Terrorist, a huge red rosette streaming from his
buttonhole, suddenly ran at Ilse and seized the broken staff and the
rags of the red flag. And Palla, alarmed, caught him by the
coat-collar and dragged him screeching and cursing away from her
friend, rebuking him in a firm but excited voice.

Ilse came over, shouldering her superb figure through the crowd;
looked at the human shrimp a moment; then her laughter pealed anew.

"That's the man who abused me in Denmark!" she said. "Oh, Palla,
_look_ at him! Do you really believe you could educate a thing like
that!"

The man had wriggled free, and now he turned a flat, whiskered visage
on Palla, menaced her with both soiled fists, inarticulate in his
fury.

But police were everywhere, now, sweeping this miniature riot from the
avenue, hustling the Reds uptown, checking the skylarking soldiery,
sending amused or indignant citizens about their business.

A burly policeman said to Ilse with a grin: "I'll take what's left of
that red flag, Miss;" and the girl handed it to him still laughing.

Soldiers wearing overseas caps cheered her and Palla. Everybody on the
turbulent sidewalk was now laughing.

"D'yeh see that blond nab the red flag outer that big kike's fists?"
shouted one soldier to his sweating bunkie. "Some skirt!"

"God love the Bolsheviki she grabs by the slack o' the pants!" cried a
blue-jacket who had lost his cap. A roar followed.

"Only one flag in this little old town!" yelled a citizen nursing a
cut cheek with reddened handkerchief.

"G'wan, now!" grumbled a policeman, trying to look severe; "it's all
over; they's nothing to see. Av ye got homes----"

"Yip! Where do we go from here?" demanded a marine.

"Home!" repeated the policeman; "--that's the answer. G'wan, now,
peaceable--lave these ladies pass!----"

Ilse and Palla, still walled in by a grinning, admiring soldiery, took
advantage of the opening and fled, followed by cheers as far as
Palla's door.

"Good heavens, Ilse," she exclaimed in fresh dismay, as she began to
realise the rather violent roles they both had played, "--is that your
idea of education for the masses?"

A servant answered the bell and they entered the house. And presently,
seated on the chaise-longue in Palla's bedroom, Ilse Westgard
alternately gazed upon her ruined white gloves and leaned against the